Shindig
by Clockwork Hobbit
Summary: WWII AU. Everyone knows that during wartime secrets have to be kept, but sometimes secrets tear apart relationships. British soldier Arthur Kirkland and American physicist Alfred F. Jones know that as well as anyone. But maybe the reveal of their secrets will tear them apart as well.


**One: Arthur**

Arthur noticed the strange man right away. He was used to seeing strangers in the small pub his brother owned, but, to be fair, they were almost always wearing military uniforms. This one, however, was in jeans, cowboy boots, and a red plaid shirt.

The man was attractive, Arthur had to give him that-wheat blond hair, bright blue eyes, tan-as well as young enough, seemingly in his mid-twenties, that Arthur couldn't figure out why he wasn't in uniform. The only possible reason that Arthur could see that the man wasn't military was the pair of glasses perched on his nose, but even that wasn't hugely convincing. It was 1944 and the Allies were desperate enough for recruits that they would take any able-bodied young man. Proudly straightening the jacket of his British Army uniform, Arthur headed over to the man. He was going to unravel this mystery.

"So," he said in a low voice, sliding into the chair across the table from the other. "What are you doing here in civvies and not a uniform?"

The man blinked. "Sorry?"

"Aren't you military? You're supposed to wear your uniform, you know."

"I see," the man said with a laugh. "I'm not military-I'm a physicist. I do research and development, I guess, on this and that for the war. They don't want ta throw me in the draft pool, see. What I do is too important for 'em to pull me to fight." He looked Arthur up and down. "It's all right for some, but I have more important things to do."

The accent hit Arthur harder than the thinly veiled insult did. "Thanks," he said vaguely. "Where the hell are you from?"

"The good ol' US of A," the man said through a blinding grin. "Kansas, specifically. Grew up on a farm-throws people 'round here for a loop when they hear me talkin'. They all think that 'cause I'm this hoity-toity scientist that I should talk all proper-like. You can take the boy out of the farm, butcha can't take the farm out of the boy, I guess."

Arthur just stared at him. "...who the hell are you?" he asked finally.

"Oh! Sorry! Ma would've whacked me for forgettin' my manners like that. Alfred F. Jones." He offered Arthur his hand.

Still staring at this crazy American, Arthur took his hand. "Arthur Kirkland. My brother owns the place." He gestured around the room briefly.

Alfred grinned. "Nice joint. Bit different from the ones back home, but I guess I shoulda expected that. Not that I've been home in a while-I'm out in the middle of nowhere workin' on stuff. But all that's classified." He winked.

Arthur sighed. "What isn't classified anymore?"

Alfred laughed. "True."

"I have to ask," Arthur began. "Not that I'm complaining-you're a lot more interesting than anyone else I've met recently-but if you're not military, what are you doing here?"

"There's a research and production plant that my work is associated with not far from here," Alfred explained. "The bigshots sent me out here to check up on 'em, see what they're up to and what I can do. Ya know, corporate shuffling. I'm here for a couple of months."

"I see," Arthur said slowly. "I'm on indefinite leave from my service, if you're interested…" He trailed off, embarrassed and not entirely sure where he was going with the sentence.

Luckily, Alfred seemed to get what he was getting at. "You're from around here, yeah? Think ya could spare some time to show a poor American farm boy around? I'm not gonna be workin' the whole time, see, and I'd love ta get ta know the area. I mean, I just met ya, but, hey, this is war. We don't take a chance, we never gonna get anythin'."

Alfred's grammar made Arthur grimace, but the sentiment was pure. "Works for me. Just let me know when you are free."

"I've got tomorrow afternoon off, if you're free."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I am free until they send me back to the trenches, as the saying goes."

"Sweet." Alfred grinned. "I'll meet ya here at one, then?"

Arthur nodded, and Alfred headed out of the pub.

* * *

He couldn't get his mind off the American as he lay in bed that night. It was stupid, he knew. He had only talked to Alfred for maybe ten minutes, but Arthur was finding himself obsessed.

He had always known that his romantic and sexual tastes were a bit...skewed. He had never made eyes at all the girls who had come running when they had shipped out, eager to have a handsome soldier to hang off of, preferring instead the other soldiers. But he couldn't make that known.

But, oh God, Alfred. He was everything Arthur dreamed of. Tall, gorgeous, and smart to boot. Of course, there was no way Alfred would ever be interested. There was no way that he was skewed like Arthur was, and, even if he was, there was no way he'd ever be interested in Arthur.

Arthur closed his eyes. The best way to go about the whole thing was to ignore it. It wasn't for that long, anyway, just for the rest of his leave. After that, he would never have to see the American again, as they would go their own ways.

Yes, he could handle it. Or so he thought.

* * *

Alfred was late. Arthur had always valued timeliness, and his time in the military had only driven that in further. Waiting for Alfred was going to drive him insane.

"Sorry, dude," came a voice behind Arthur, causing him to jump. "Betcha thought I ditched, didn't ya?"

Arthur stood, turning to face Alfred. "Where the hell have you been? You said one-it's nearly two!"

Alfred frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Got held up at work."

"I see." Arthur sighed. "At any rate, let's get going."

* * *

It had been a nice afternoon. Arthur had shown Alfred the small town, his hometown, from the eyes of a local, a tour that not many of the Americans who had been shipped across the pond got. Alfred had seemed interested, though Arthur had seen his eyes slip closed more than once. He excused it-everyone was so tired now, even the people who didn't fight. The stress of years of war weighed heavily on the shoulders of the world, a burden too great for any one person to bear. And yet they all had to bear that burden.

They ended up at one of Arthur's favorite restaurants for dinner. It was a tiny place, owned and run by a local family, as it had been for generations. There were rumors linking the place and family back to the Renaissance.

"This is all so neat-really swell," Alfred remarked. "Ain't nothin' like home, but it's got its own charm to it. I'd be interested in comin' back after the war ends so I can see it like it's meant to be."

That was almost like a sucker punch in the gut for Arthur. Alfred was that interested in the town, that he would come back in peacetime?

 _He's coming for the town, if he comes back, Kirkland, not for you_.

* * *

Over the next few weeks they fell into a comfortable routine. They usually met up for dinner every night, unless work engagements kept Alfred busy. Times like those made Arthur wonder what exactly it was the American did, but he remember Alfred saying, the very first time they had met, that it was classified, and Arthur would never gamble on lives and fortunes by pressing for classified information. He didn't even ask how Alfred's day had been, although the other always did the same for him.

He did ask, in general terms, however, the day Alfred came into the pub with his hand wrapped in bandages and face white as a bone.

"What did you _do_?" he half-hissed, half-cooed at Alfred.

The American looked sheepish. "There were these exposed pieces of metal, and I wasn't paying attention. We were debating equations and all and walking and I managed to slice my hand open. It's no big deal."

Arthur crossed his arms. "No big deal? Alfred, I've seen men _die_ from less."

"Yeah, in the field, with makeshift medical care. Bit different." Alfred arched an eyebrow. "I had top-notch medical care on this. We have a great doctor on staff."

"All the same!" Arthur insisted. "What if you're not okay?"

"Then you can kiss the damn thing better," Alfred snapped back, then clapped a hand over his mouth. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded...Ma always said that kissin' wounds better was a magic trick, see…"

Arthur's heart sank. Staring at his shoes, he changed the subject. "I ship out soon," he murmured. "They're sending me to Germany. So if there's anything you really want to see here, we need to do it soon."

Alfred was still wide-eyed over his slip of the tongue. "Uh, yeah. Um...take me to your favorite place in town, whatever it is. I don't care if we've been there before."

"Well, we haven't been, as it happens" Arthur replied. "And it's not quite _in_ town."

* * *

About half an hour later, they were coming up on Arthur's favorite spot. It was in the woods that were on the outskirts of town, a little grotto-type thing near a stream.

"It's beautiful," Alfred murmured to Arthur, sitting beside him on the grass. "I can see why you like it...it suits you."

They had gotten to know each other relatively well over the weeks they had spent together (except for the fact that Arthur still didn't know what it was Alfred did, but he was used to the fact that things were classified due to the ongoing war), and so Alfred was confident in saying that.

Arthur grinned. "Thank you. I love it. It's quiet and relaxing-everything that I need after being around my brothers."

That made Alfred laugh. During the time he had spent with Arthur he had met the three older Kirkland brothers, all several years older than Arthur, and the youngest had often been the scapegoat and punching bag growing up.

"Did I ever tell you about my family, my life growing up?" Alfred asked once he regained his breath.

Arthur shook his head, leaning back against a moss-covered rock. They had talked about their interests, but never their pasts. The only reason that Alfred knew about Arthur's brothers was because he had met them.

"Well, my real da skipped town 'fore I could remember him. Never knew the man. Ma remarried when I was six-we needed a man on the farm, more than hired hands, so she went lookin' when I was four and gettin' old enough to work on the farm, and fell head over heels. I call him Da, though. He was always the man I looked up ta. He was around essentially as long as I can remember. I grew up workin' on the farm-I know everythin' that goes with runnin' it. Loved school, especially math and science. I still got high marks in English and history and languages, but I really loved the other two. Went to Kansas State once I graduated high school, majored in physics. Got a job soon after I graduated, seein' as the war was already on. I've only ever worked the one job."

"You're the opposite of me," Arthur said quietly, staring into the trees dreamily. "I barely scraped by in math and science, got decent marks in languages and history, and excelled in English. I was in the middle of university when the war broke out. I enlisted before I could be drafted-I thought that maybe that would go better for me."

"Has it?"

He shrugged. "Well, I haven't died yet,"

Alfred frowned. "Don't even joke about that."

"Sorry," Arthur apologized. "How's your hand?"

"Fine and dandy," Alfred replied, looking closely at Arthur. "Somethin's botherin' ya."

Arthur sighed-Alfred was right. "I just got my orders-I ship out tomorrow."

Alfred leapt to his feet. "No! You can't just _leave_!"

"You knew this was coming," Arthur reminded him.

"Still!" Alfred collapsed into a pile beside Arthur. "You can't leave. I need ya 'round here, ya know. You're all I got, pretty much. The whole secrecy thing throws most people for a loop, but never you. I mean, yeah, I can talk to the others, but all we ever end up talking about is physics and the whole thing we're on. That gets old...I like having someone else around."

Arthur was sure he was reading too much into Alfred's words. There was no way that any of that translated to "I like you," but Arthur desperately hoped that it did.

 _If you never try, you never know, Kirkland._ And he was leaving anyway. It was unlikely that he would ever see Alfred again, so what did he have to lose?

Leaning over the heap that was Alfred, Arthur kissed the other square on the lips.

Then he stood and started running off, down the path and away from Alfred. He couldn't face the American.

"Arthur! Wait!" There were hurried footsteps behind him-Alfred was faster, even with the training Arthur had gone through once he had enlisted. A hand ensnared his wrist, and Arthur found himself yanked around to be face to face with Alfred.

"What?" he snapped. "I messed up, and I know that. Now, let me go."

"You don't understand," Alfred breathed. "I've been holdin' a torch for ya since the first time I saw ya. I just kinda figured ya weren't interested. It's so rare to meet someone like me-the prettiest ones never are. And so I didn't see how you could be. But…" He trailed off, burning gaze holding Arthur's, as he brought his bandaged hand up to run his fingers along Arthur's jawline.

Arthur grinned shakily, and brought his lips to meet Alfred's again.

* * *

A week later Arthur was in Germany, with no more than the memory of Alfred's touch and the promise to write. They would make this work.

* * *

 **Well, I have made the mistake of starting a new project. Welcome to Shindig.**

 **As always, favorites and follows are always great, and reviews make my day! Let me know what you think, if it's any good, and what needs improved. Thanks!**


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